Room 8, Ward 47
by Strikey-Chan
Summary: It was always Japan that chased and depended on England. Now, it seems to be the other way around. Short and sweet, Asakiku angst.


**So I haven't written in eight months.**

**Splendid.**

**Wanted to experiment some mini angst – I was inspired by a Kuroko No Basuke fanfic I read, and it made me depressed for days. I was really torn between making this a Pokemon or Hetalia fanfic, but well, here it is. Enjoy.**

* * *

"Hello, Mr. Japan," The nurse at the counter greeted. "Same as usual?"

The nation nodded politely. "Yes, room 8, ward 47."

The woman handed him his pass.

"Thank you."

Room 8, ward 47. He had long since memorized those numbers.

"Hello, Mr. England, may I come in?" He asked, knocking on the door. He entered even when there was no reply – after all, it had become a common routine to him by now.

"Good afternoon, I hope you're doing well." Japan greeted upon opening the door. England sat in his bed, his eyes never wavering, forever staring into space. Wires clogged his nose to the bed. The beeps that were heard sounded dangerously low.

This place had become all too familiar. Painfully so.

Many letters were scattered across England's desk. They would probably never be read. Japan looked at the recently bought flowers – they were probably from France.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm truly sorry for not coming earlier, there were matters I had to attend to." Japan let silence fill the air, listening for the reply that never came.

"Of course not, Mr. England," He said with a rather forced chuckle, "I'd never lie to you."

He walked to the table and picked up a card.

"This one's from your queen," Japan said softly. "Would you like me to read them to you?"

Another pause.

"Alright, I understand. I'd feel unsettled too – having someone else read such things such aloud."

Japan sat down on a chair, taking out a small book to read. The silence in the air wasn't at all uncomfortable – instead, it felt heavy and expectant.

"Recently, I've started taking up courses on aikido again," Japan said. His voice pierced through the silence. "Everyone there is very friendly. I'm sure if you joined, you'd be a great help to the championships. I'm not very good though – my strength is degrading. What can you say about an old geezer like me, right? Ha.. Ha..." his voice trailed off.

Snapping out of it, he hastily took out a photo album from his bag and moved closer to England.

"See? I took some pictures at the end of the nationals. I was surprised Mr. America knew hand to hand combat, to be honest," he flipped to a page, but he knew those green eyes would never stare back at what he was pointing to.

"You know, it kinda reminds me of how you and I would fight each other in the past... We had an unstoppable alliance, back... Then.." Japan dropped his book and it fell to the floor. His voice broke. He knew he was merely trying to communicate with England because he refused to accept the fact that the truth was painful – so cruelly painful.

The nation shook. Tears tumbled down his cheek and into his lap. Trembling, he took the other's ice cold hands and looked into his eyes.

Those green eyes weren't looking at him.

"Arthur, why won't you reply...? Please, reply... Tell me how you used to fight over land with France, tell me about your squabbles with America... P-please... Y-you can even tell me what you had for breakfast, please, I beg of you, just answer me..."

Japan cried, for a long time.

* * *

When he stood, the Sun was setting – it was getting dark. Japan had lost track of time.

"It was nice to talk to you again, Mr. England," Japan said, voice as monotone as ever. "Of course, I shall visit you next Monday. Yes, it's a promise. You don't even have to ask."

He smiled sadly as he looked at the face of the blonde.

Those emerald eyes used to burn so fiercely.

* * *

As soon as Japan left, a dangerously long beep sounded through the room, then all was silence.

Then there were shouts.

"Ward 47 needs serious attention! I repeat, ward 47 -"

* * *

... Next Monday, right?


End file.
